Treacheries of Technology
by Shadow Sanctuary
Summary: Sick of living in his brother's shadow, Mokuba uses state-of-the-art to steal something he's always dreamed of having-Seto's famous face. Will the C.E.O. regain his identity, or end up losing it to the treacheries of technology?


Computer cords gripped slim, sinuous wrists, pinning the limbs to the desk top, making all attempts at escape futile. Struggling only forced burn marks to appear. One wrong turn could even rip open the veins. So why would the boy in restraints continue thrashing about? Waking up to find his body nailed to hard wood was only partly to blame. The real reason behind his panic was the image of black gloved fingers stroking jagged points on metal, methodically caressing each and every twist and turn in the silvery coils. Animals many times his size couldn't stand a slight brush from the prickly material, so how could he tolerate a full contact squeeze from it? A good, single swipe by his neck might remove the first layer of skin. Just the right amount of pressure on the wound would do worse than that.

Fear glazed eyes followed the gray wire, hypnotized by the slow, subtle movements of the shadowy hands, half-wishing that the intruder would just drop the crazy charade and end everything. "Access file codes to your main data frame, please." his captor purred, blowing hot, steamy air into his ear on every consonant.

Unintentionally, the other person shuddered. Numbers? Was that all his life being threatened for, a few numerical sequences? Managing a bitter smirk, trepidation started to trickle from the adolescent's pores. "Why?" he asked cautiously. "Spouting off some jargon off the top of my head won't be enough. There are sequences for every bit of business I conduct, each bank account I have, the stock shares I've acquired, the companies I cut deals with. Yatta, yatta, yatta, the list goes on. And on. And _on. _So," the bound male spat confidently, almost haughtily, "I don't know what you think you're trying to accomplish, but holding me hostage in my own home won't get you what you want."

The attacker coolly regarded the pet on the brown surface, blindfolded and writhing like someone seeking oxygen in a world of carbon dioxide. The image of a delicate, tropical fish came to mind, a pretty, but narcissistic little sea creature, so mesmerized by wealth and success that he didn't even realize that the same lifestyle he loved and cherished would turn on him. An invisible hook had been planted in his mouth, embedding itself deep inside the sticky membranes of his throat. Now the string was being pulled, bringing the catch of the day along with it: a squirming corporate executive gasping for air.

_That's exactly the way I like my meals, though. _mused the fisherman. _Warm and still moving is my favorite item on the menu. _

Casually, barbed wire was brought to the prey's collar and laced around sweat slathered skin like a gothic accessory. Rusted tips sliced into cold tissue, provoking angry streaks of red to paint the pale backdrop. Unbridled terror tore through an already injured esophagus, rubbing inflamed nerves raw, straining vocal chords to eject yelps more pitiful than a child cowering in misery.

"And this is supposed to be the famous high school genius with unrivaled attractiveness and intellect?" cried the assailant laughingly. "Sorry, _princess_, but compared to me, your so-called superior skills are _inferior_."

Searing pain shot through the captive's entire system, stealing the air from his lungs. He realized that, in all his years of projecting a tough-as-nails reputation, he wasn't any stronger than a seahorse. His status as a ruthless businessman was nothing more than a false guise perpetrated by elaborate fabrications. In the end, he really was just some baby guppy hanging in the wind, wasting the last of his energy on trying to be rescued.

"_What_," he shouted desperately. Tears were bubbling beneath his lids, but he wouldn't let them go. It would take hell imposing more than this on him to make him cry. "_what _is_ it_? _What do you want_? _My laptop passwords? Credit card numbers? Social security documents? Tell me! What is it? What do you want? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME_?"

Quick bursts of oxygen flew in and out of his mouth, pushing his chest up and down, pounding out the heavy percussion beat of unfathomable alarm. His heart refused to keep any rhythm besides a fast-paced techno one, hammering inside his chest like a synthesizer turned on full blast. Where was the sick screwball now? Why wasn't the monster responding? Suddenly, his sight was invaded by a pair of lips, two, full, shapely lips colored an unnatural shade of red. That wasn't lipstick the psycho was wearing, either. No cosmetic out there could achieve such an ungodly resemblance to blood. Feeling a bead of perspiration slide over his temple, the adolescent ceased his momentary fighting, took a long, hard swallow, and prepared himself for the worst.

A voracious tongue lapped the shores of the gore spattered mouth. "You see, _sweetie_," murmured the foreign voice softly, "those codes are very appealing, but-"

The boy on his back couldn't resist cutting in. When faced with a life or death situation, money and possessions didn't seem so valuable after all. He'd gladly spout off whatever secret sequences he had on hand to save his backend. Frustrated and scared, he yelled, "But I can tell you those!"

"I bet you can."

"I can! I really can! You want my PC password? It's 175603! My MasterCard account No.? That's 1863572413! The house entrance code? 01943875! Really, anything, anything! I can get you anything you want, anything you honestly believe you need!"

The wine tinted lips stretched into a hideous smile. "Anything?" asked the criminal, whose eyes were glittering with excitement.

"Yes!" cried the captive hurriedly, "Anything! I can do it! I can get you any---AAAGH!"

Without warning, the barbed wire sank deeper into its bearer's neck. Frantic, he whipped his head from side to side, wild actions that had the opposite effect of what he hoped for. The slick barbs were going in further. There was no way to stop them. Crying out in maddening anguish, he barely heard the repulsive reply uttered by his attacker.

"If you'll give me anything," purred the soft, languid voice, "then do it. Give it here."

"G-give it? Give wh-what? I don't h-have anything o-on m-m-me---!"

"Yes you do."

"Wh-what?"

At last, the crimson colored lips blossomed into deadly perfection, twin rose petal segments expanding into the widest, most sinister smile that had ever been expressed. The gesture was simply awful, glorifying a typical vampire's infamous lust for blood, with pearly canines gleaming in the dimly lit space like freshly sharpened knives yearning to chop meat on a butcher's block. Yes, this angel baby fish was recently caught and ready to be thrown into the frying pan and over the fire. But why cook something when it's perfect as it is? Better yet, why not have the delicacy right here, right now?

_It's the least I can do for him._ reasoned the cold-hearted creature in mock sympathy. _After all, I'd hate for him to have to suffer. I want him to enjoy the rest of his life with me-every last few seconds of it, that is._

Nibbling on the petrified adolescent's ear, the night walker whispered, "You have everything I need on you. It's all here. Every ounce of delicious values I could ask for…yourself."


End file.
